Aversion Therapy

Sometimes we like to do things that we shouldn't (alcohol, drugs, shower-crying). I'm a liberal person who believes that people should be allowed to do whatever makes them happy, as long as it doesn't hurt or effect the happiness of other people. So, auto-erotic asphyxiation, good. Strangling prostitutes, bad - It's very simple.

Sometimes we can't stop doing certain things because they are compulsive behaviors (nail-biting, bed-wetting, prostitute strangling) or because we have become addicted to a substance or practice (smoking, drinking, strangling prostitutes). Aversion therapy can help with many addictions and even compulsive behaviors.

•  If you're an alcoholic or drug addict then you can use emetics that cause you to become violently sick when you consume alcohol or opiates. 
• If you bite your nails then you can dip them in something foul tasting (this also applies to homosexuality and a man's anus, not sure what you'd dip it in though)
• If you're a bed wetter then place a flat-screen television (on mute, obviously) under the sheets, I guarantee that if you do wet your bed, you won't do it a second time.
• If you're addicted to stealing things then read on the internet why inmates punch each other in the kidneys in prison, you'll never steal again....or commit any crime.

Mine was not one of the above problems, not that I don't have any of them, just that they're not my primary concern. If your problem is not one of the above then you need to use my method to help overcome it. 

First you need photos of what you're trying to overcome or come over in my case (it was my ex, Tara). Get a selection of photos (long range, close-up, nightvision, on a date with that prick she's now seeing). Once you have them you need to intersperse them with photos of something you find horrific and deplorable - I chose the holocaust (I don't like where this is going). Simply attach yourself (my balls) to something which can give you an electric shock on demand (a car battery). Shuffle the photos, lay them face down and turn one over at a time. Every time a photo of Tara comes up- I electrocute myself. When a photo of Hitler, a Nazi or a concentration camp does- I do nothing. Do this for 30 minutes, or until you're so dehydrated that you can't cry any more, whichever comes first.

I repeat this night after night, night after night, until the effects of this process become ingrained in my subconscious (about 3 months, or the time it takes for Steve to tell Tara he loves her, prick). In theory this should trick my brain into thinking that Tara is worse than Hitler and the murder of six million Jews.

Sadly, the process was only somewhat successful. I save a lot of money on pornography as I now get turned on by most of the output on The History Channel. And though I do still find Tara attractive, I'm so terrified of car batteries that I'm too scared to drive to her house, climb a tree, strap on some nightvision goggles and stare through her window. Not exactly perfect but I'll take it.

No matter what you can't stop doing there is always a solution.I'm working through all my demons one at a time- If only god would stop making prostitutes that smell like her, it would make it a bit easier.

Passion

In the New Testament the account of the arrest, trial, torture, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ (of Nazareth) is known as The Passion of Christ- Now I'm not going to slag off Mr.Jesus Christ (of Nazareth), some people believe he was a great man. All I will say is that if he was passionate about being tortured and crucified, imagine what he'd do if he tried Crystal meth -  Never mind three days, he'd be back every day looking like he'd just risen from the dead (if you are a Christian and offended by that, forgive me).

Passion is the reason life is worth living- Sex, music, art, design, socialising, all that jazz (and jazz). We do it cos we're passionate about it, we do it cos it makes us feel alive. Would I drink if I wasn't passionate about the distillation process? Would I dance if I didn't feel passionate about music and dancing? (yeah, if I'd had some distilled passion) Would I go bear-baiting if I didn't feel passionate about it? (yes, but only cos I'm also passionate about gambling).

I'm a regular red-blooded male (since my experimental blood transfusion, it used to be green, I got tired of people thinking I was jealous). I get very passionate about a lot of things. I tend to shout a lot (at bears that don't place). The problem with passion is that it needs an outlet somewhere otherwise you end up misappropriating the energy elsewhere.

Example - Women are what make men the most passionate. We want them. We need them. The problem with me is that the women don't generally want me. The proximity to these women, coupled with my overactive imagination leads to extreme passion and energy build-up. In the hands of a normal male, most of the energy would be released with fucking - With me it's released in my fucking hands. Of course wanking does not expend the same amount of energy as my 72 seconds of sex, so the remaining energy has to go elsewhere - Running at the gym, playing football, shouting at complete strangers, the usual.

It's even worse if you like a particular woman. "Rather than man's genetic impulse to fuck every woman they find remotely attractive, being extremely attracted to one woman is much worse" - (Charles Darwin, at his wife's funeral, 1896). The amount of passion and energy builds up exponentially, your mind races and you find it difficult to contain all these bubbling emotions. You can't help it though, the passion and the attraction has taken control. She's telling you about her day but you don't hear a thing cos your mind is thinking "I'd really like to see how she masturbates, so if I were to go down on her I could make her come really hard." - While you were imagining that you weren't listening to what she has to say, the conversation dies and she excuses herself to go to the toilet. You watch her walk away then stab a fork into you thigh just so you can think of anything but the sight of her masturbating.

The night continues in a similar vein. She thinks you're creepy cos all you do is stare and mumble. At the end of the night you walk her home. You have aggressive sex with a prostitute that smells like her. Murder a tramp on the way home.

Passion is the reason we do everything good in life. You may go to work everyday to earn money, but it's the things you're passionate about that you spend it on. Without passion there'd be nothing, no art, music, no Italian food. Nothing. Sure we'd still have politicians and the Germans but I don't wanna live in that world. So the next time you get in a knife-fight with the person that took the last vanilla crown at Tesco, do it with a smile on your face, cos where would we be without passion?

The Girlfriend

It's been a while since I've had a girlfriend, things with Tara ended so badly (financially) that I've not really wanted to get involved with anyone. Sure there have been offers, I mean, who wouldn't want me? (almost everyone), but things haven't felt right, until now........

Flashback

She was somewhere between 23 and 47, she was 5'11" and drunk as shit. The first thing I noticed about her were her eyes. Her eyes were blue, not really blue, they were blue in the way that some things are blue, but less blue than others. To summarise, they were quite blue. The reason I noticed them wasn't for their colour but because they were staring directly at me, but like, really at me - as if she was trying to see into my memories (like the time I came in my pants in R.E) - thank god she couldn't actually see that, it would be well embarrassing if anybody knew.

I went over to chat her up. I told her that she had moderately blue eyes and offered to buy her a reasonably priced drink, she seemed non-plussed. I bought her a Babycham (with a straw). I asked her why she'd been staring at me so intently. She told me that I reminded her of her brother, but that was good, cos he was fit.I told her that she reminded me of the first girl I ever slept with.........in that she was drunk and female.I asked for her name, she said it was Lydia but all her friends call her Clam. I said "Oh Clam-Lydia, I get it", she said "you probably will".

We chatted for a while and the night progressed. She invited me back to hers but I declined cos I really liked her and didn't want to fuck her straight away. She called me a faggot and gave me her phone number. I called her a cab, went home and fell asleep trying to masturbate. 

Back To Present

We've been dating a few weeks now and I really like her. I like it when couples have a good "how-we-met" story. Who knows? If things go right, I could be telling that story to our kids one day.

Alcohol

Alcohol is such an important part of my life that I can't believe I haven't done a blog about it previously. Leaving it nearly two years to write about alcohol would be like me naming my favourite films non-stop, but taking 12 hours to think of Interracial Ass-Stretchers 4 (a classic of the genre, the mise-en-scene alone raises it above 3).

Like Interracial Ass-Stretchers 4, my life has been rather up and down (and sometimes painful). There have bad times (like the time I got punched by a fat lady on the bus) and there have been good times (like the time I thought I saw John Belushi on the bus), but throughout it all there has been alcohol.

When your life is uncertain or complicated, you need something constant. Something definite that will always be as it was (except the new Sailor Jerry's recipe). The outcome of a night out can be determined by so many things, many different ingredients that all come together for you to have a good night out - alcohol isn't one of them. If you have a bad location, or company, or if you're in a bad mood, then it can all go wrong. But no matter where you are or who you're with, tequila is still tequila, vodka is still vodka.

It's not all good. On many occasions alcohol has lead my to do bad things (and ugly things). It has caused me to say things that hurt people or to fall down things that hurt me, but that isn't the alcohol's fault. It is up to me, the drinker, to drink the correct amount. I can't blame vodka for calling my friend a "silly bitch" - I can blame myself for drinking too much, I can blame myself for thinking she's a silly bitch and then speaking, or I can blame her for being a silly bitch. Alcohol was just an innocent bystander (I was lead down in the street).

Remember don't blame it on the alcohol. She did nothing wrong:

She cools you down on a warm summer's day,
She warms you up on a cold winter's evening.
She can cheer you up,
She numbs the pain.
She is the zenith and nadir,
The day and the night.
My everything.

Now I'll raise a glass to alcohol......and another one......and another one....

Tara - The Settlement

Tara and I were never married, but due to the complexities of her arrival in the country I was legally responsible for her. It's difficult to explain, I don't fully understand it myself but here goes -

For me to import Tara into this country I had to have Fed-Ex transport her overnight. Due to certain antiquated slavery laws I was not allowed to pay for her to be shipped overseas. I had to set up my own foundation (The Richard Howarth Foundation For Sexually Attractive Women), register it as a charity and then use the charity's money to have her transported here as a missionary (though most her work was doggy or reverse cowgirl). When we broke up she sued me for wrongful dismissal.

Here are the terms of our settlement -

• I have to return her false leg
• She was given sole custody of our porcelain dog, Leroy (we stood in the yard and called it for hours but it didn't move, I let her have it, it was a drag taking it for walks).
• I have to pay her £1,100 p/m until she gets a new job
• I was now allowed to use her name in any comedy material (for the last 4 months she had a gagging order on me)
• She got to keep the gags and the butt-plugs (hers only)
• She got the clothes off my back (I was wearing her blouse)
• I have to sell the house and she gets 15% of the money
• She can go fuck herself
• She got to keep her car (which I paid for)
• I get to keep all the poetry I wrote for her, though I did allow her to keep the new experimental stuff (it's the word cunt written over and over in shit).
• I get to keep her name. I called her Tara, now she has to go back to Equivocado or whatever she was called before.
• She is now a board member of my charity (The Richard Howarth Foundation For Sexually Attractive Women). In fact, she came home early the other week and had to oversee me helping a young woman earn money for college.
• She gets the collection of crotchless underwear and the photos of me in them.
• I get to keep all the sex tapes, including the extended version (after my operation) and the uncut version (before my circumcision)

There you have it. It really is a modern day love story - I found her in the jungle, shipped her to England, taught her love, sex...and English. We broke up when I thought she was dumping me, but was, in fact, taking me on holiday. Then there was the incident where I broke into her flat and now we're separated and she gets the porcelain dog (I'm waiting for Disney's lawyers to option it for a movie)

This hasn't made me disheartened or jaded about love, it has only made me more determined to find some better.....and to get a better contract of employment drawn up.